[Reaction]
[It was unfamiliar. It was new. Unknown. Despite two moons under his belt, Atticus had never felt this. Had never experienced. Didn't know the scents, the feel of the rabbit in his maw, the sensation of cracking bone under the weight of his jaw. The tear of meat was satisfying. Wasn't enough for him. Appetizer was the word his brain supplied. He felt small. Didn't like feeling small. No, feeling small just wasn't right. Shouldn't be the reflection in the water. Small, weak, vulnerable. Should be another kind of vulnerable. Old, grizzled, seen better days and worse days, and with the sagacity that there will be more of the same ahead. It was a cycle, like the moon was a cycle.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Fresh kill. Blood.
The smell hit. Probably sniffed the air where he was. Smelled rich, copper, thick. Salivated. Was annoyed at the tiny length of his stride. The small paws didn't move quickly enough. Food. Trailed thick goblets of drool from his jowls. Or, would have, had it been him. But he was small. Hated this being small shit.
The pack below didn't scare him. Scared the small one. Didn't scare him, and Atticus wasn't sure who was seeing what anymore. Didn't matter. Just wanted the little shit to go feast. He wanted to go feast.
The progress was too slow, and then it ended, and the man snarled angrily. It was a snarl of a creature denied, barely any humanity to it at all. Ran his hand over his hair and laid it to rest on the back of his neck. Leaned his head back. This shit was going to kill him.
Still, hungry and all, there was a slightly satisfied grin on his lazy mouth.]